Free Barefoot Season by Susan Mallery Page B

do that to feel important, I can’t stop you.”
Michelle’s jaw tightened. “Then it’s in your best interest to keep what I’m about to tell you to yourself.”
“All right.”
Michelle looked away. For a second it seemed that her shoulders slumped, that she was giving in to defeat. Carly waited, not sure if the weakness was real or a way to trick her. Before she could decide, the moment passed and she drew in a breath.
“The inn’s financial state is desperate,” Michelle began, then explained about the overdue mortgages and threat of foreclosure.
Because she needed one more thing to keep her up at night, Carly thought grimly, horrified and yet not even surprised by the news.
“She never said a word. Never hinted. Four months ago we were looking at catalogs of French linens.”
“Tell me you didn’t order any,” Michelle said.
“We didn’t. But we could have.” Carly looked around at the gift shop. “How could she have done this? Don’t bother answering. I’m just talking out loud. This is so her. So her.”
Anger joined disbelief and resignation. Anger that Brenda, who had seemed to care about Gabby, would have put the child in harm’s way.
Carly and Brenda had talked about the future so many times. How Carly would become a partner and then have financial security. The inn would never make her rich, but having money in the bank, a college fund for Gabby, the comfort of knowing she could afford a decent used car every six or seven years, would have been enough.
“I cared about her,” Carly murmured, more to herself. “I was there for her when she got sick.” She looked at Michelle. “I was there when she died.”
As expected, Michelle’s expression didn’t change.
“She screwed us both. Do you want to keep your job?”
“Yes.”
“I want to keep the inn. The bank has conditions. The loans have to be brought up-to-date. We have to maintain better than an eighty-five percent occupancy through the summer. That’s twenty-six rooms at any given time.”
Michelle hesitated. “There’s one more thing. They want you to commit to stay on.”
The words sank in slowly. “You can’t fire me?”
“You sound smug.”
“I’ve earned it.”
“How the hell do you figure that? I’m gone thirty seconds and you weasel your way in here, taking advantage of my mother, sucking this place dry.”
Carly glared at her. “That’s crap and you know it. I didn’t weasel my way into anything. I’ve worked my ass off here for practically no money. I work ten- or twelve-hour days, I take care of all the guests. Since I’ve been here, our repeat business is up sixty percent. Do you think they come back because your mother made them feel welcome? It was me.”
“Aren’t you a saint.”
Carly angled toward her. “I’m someone who was here, which is more than I can say for you.”
Color stained Michelle’s cheeks. “I was away defending your country. Getting shot at.”
“You were hiding. You didn’t have the courage to come back. You stayed away because it was easier.”
“What’s your excuse?” Michelle asked, not denying the words. “If everything was so difficult, if you had to work so hard, why didn’t you leave?”
“Because she told me I would get a piece of the inn. That I was earning my way into owning part of it.”
Michelle stared at her for several seconds. “It wasn’t hers to give,” she said quietly.
“I found that out recently.” That lie had been the hardest to handle.
“I told you the inn was mine. Before. When we were kids.”
“I thought you were bragging.”
“Maybe if you’d believed me, none of this would have happened.”
“What does that mean?” Carly demanded. “That the inn being in trouble was my fault? You’re not listening.”
In the background a bell tinkled. She turned and saw that all the customers had fled the store. So much for selling anything else this morning.
“I want you to stay on,” Michelle told her. “I’ll draw up a contract. It will give